Real World

Here's another story, unedited. Hope you enjoy it...also the tone isn't like the song. In fact it is the complete opposite, but who I am to argue with the muse? jk. :) The song playing the song I based the story off of.



Real World
"Real World" Matchbox Twenty

He looked up feeling the rain drip on his face. He closed his eyes and smiled, basking in the knowledge that this rain was his. He had come to the little town suffering from drought, knowing that he would be the one to save it. The dusty little town would have died without him. He was their lifesaver, the rainmaker. A roll of thunder punctuated the smile of joy that lit across his face. The rain fell from the sky faster and faster and his heart kept pace, beating till he could barely tell the sound of it from the rain. He whooped and started to dance, regardless of who might see.

Carl woke with a start, half expecting to hear rain pounding against the glass of his window. The dreams had become more and more real as the weeks went on. It was to the point where he couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or it was really happening. Why, just last week he dreamt he was on safari. He woke up at his desk feeling the wild African wind blow through his hair. He had never in his life had such vivid dreams. At first they were few, happening only once a month, progressing until they came every night. He always awoke no more rested than when he had fallen asleep. Mary took him to a doctor to see if there was anything they could do for him. Nothing was wrong with, the doctor said. He flipped his pillow over, savoring the cool feel of it against his cheek. He closed his eyes as the pit pat of water hit the window.

The morning peeked through soaked skies as Carl walked up to his office. It had rained all morning, making his already gloomy mood almost unbearable. With no rest, his day seemed drab compared to his colorful nights. His coworkers avoided him when he came in with bags under his eyes. They knew of his condition, the one the doctors kept telling him didn’t exist. Sitting at his desk, he went about his routine until he could keep his eyes open no longer. He fought against it, knowing that if he allowed his eyes to close he would open them in a new world, more exciting than the one he was living in now. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be happy here, in his life, the life he had lived for thirty years. He was happily married, had a good paying job, the best friends, had an overall great life. His dreams had him yearning for more out of his life. But despite all the effort, his eyes drifted shut.

The sun was shining beautifully. He closed his eyes as he felt the gentle fingertips of warmth caress his skin. Breathing in deep, he could smell the warmth in the air as a fragrance infusing everything with energy, even him. Smiling, he stepped off the roof, feeling the air rush past him. He pulled up, barely missing the concrete and an astonished pigeon. Flying never lost its excitement. There was also a certain peace in it; purer, somehow than the earth below. If he was being honest with himself, the sky was closer to home than the brown earth he plodded each day.

Carl woke with a start, almost falling out of his chair. He still felt the weightlessness of not being bound by gravity. Instead of scaring him, he longed for it. Somewhere deep inside him, the dream felt more like a memory than something his mind made up. Confused, he made his way to his car. It hit that if he accepted his dreams instead of fighting them, he may be able to ease them away. Wean him off them in a way. He walked through his door wearing a smile that Mary hadn’t seen in months. Her smile in return lit up her haggard face. Dinner that night was the best they had since the dreams had hit Carl. He went to sleep without a care in the world, Mary curled at his side.

Standing at bow hearing the water lap at the wood, he let out a loud whoop. The salt in the air and the creak of the boat made up his world. In the distance, loomed what appeared to be a storm, but unlike any storm he had ever seen. It was tinged with green and made a sickly rumble sound, like the air itself was ill. He yelled at the crew to ready the vessel for what he knew would be a rough ride. He couldn’t hide his grin though at the prospect of riding the storm, feeling the wind whip his hair back and the rain pelt him, to hear the thunder crash and the lightning charging the air with energy. He would be alive, truly alive. He met the first wave with a joyous laugh.

Instead of waking with a start, Carl rode the dream just like he rode the storm. He woke with a smile on his face. It was beautiful, and like all the other dreams lately it seemed more like a memory than a dream. The images were too clear and pure. The more he thought about it the more Carl became sure that the dreams were memories. They didn’t make sense but then again they felt right.
The next couple of days only confirmed his growing suspicion. When he was awake he could recall the smell, the feel and sensation of the dreams. Dreams were meant to fade away, leaving nothing but these left something behind, a residue of feeling. Some of the dreams made no sense. One night he had a conversation with a fairy king, in another he taught dolphins Morse code. But there were some that hit him with a force of a speeding arrow; his daughter’s marriage, leading his troop into victory, and a very heated argument with the President. Even though he never had a daughter, never enlisted, or even seen the president, those dreams left him each morning feeling like he had regained a part of his life that he had lost.
Even Mary saw the difference in him. She asked him time and again, what had happened to work such a change in him. He refrained from telling her, afraid that she would think him crazy. But Mary was a persistent woman, it was one of the reasons he had married her. He finally broke down and told her. It was a mistake.
“Memories? Carl, that’s ridicules. You’ve lived in Boston your whole life. You are an accountant for goodness sakes. You can’t swim, let alone sail. And fairies are not real. Carl you know this.”
“Mary, please try to understand. You know these dreams aren’t normal.”
“Yes. But Carl, seriously. The world isn’t like that.”
Carl looked at her, hurt in his eyes. He thought Mary would believe him, stand by him. He knew it was a little hard to take in, but couldn’t she see he was serious about it. He was right, he knew it.
The weeks became strained in the Patrick household. The dreams continued every night, and Mary continued to look at him with concern in her eyes. He wasn’t totally surprised when he came home to see her and a doctor sitting in the front room waiting on him.
“Carl, this is Dr. Steven. He’s here to help”
“I don’t need help, Mary. I’m perfectly fine. Better in fact than I have in years.”
The doctor stood up. “Sir, I won’t take but a minute of your time. Please I just want to talk.”
Carl sat eyes on Mary the whole time. The doctor continued.
“Mary tells me that you are having dreams, Carl. Vivid dreams and that you believe them to be memories. Why?”
“Why do I have the dreams or think they are memories?”
“Why do you think they are memories?”
Carl looked at the doctor, capturing the doctor’s hazel with his passionate chocolate brown. “Because they don’t fade when I wake up. I can recall them perfectly and seem right.”
“Right?”
“Yes, right.” Suddenly, Carl leaned closer to Dr. Steven, “I was missing something from my life, and this was it. These memories. I had no idea how unhappy I was, how bland. Then I start remembering, and at first it scared me, drained me. Until I gave in and let myself remember. And I do. I remember everything. The smell of salt on the ocean, the feel of decaying leaves under my boot, even the taste of the finest fairy wine. I remember, I don’t know how I lost them in the first place, but I will not lose them again”
He could feel the stares as he stood up and walked into his bedroom. Putting his ear to the door, he could make out his wife’s sobs and the doctor’s oily smooth condolences.
“Ma’am we need to take him in. He clearly isn’t well. We can help him. But it is up to you.”
“What will happen if he doesn’t get help? Surely it will just fade away?”
“I haven’t had the chance to thoroughly examine him, but from what I have seen that if Carl is left alone it might get to the point he could harm himself or others. He shows all the signs of delusion. He firmly believes that he has done the things in his dreams.”
“He’s never had problems before. Why now?”
“Stress? Midlife crisis? Who knows? All I know right now is that your husband needs help Mrs. Patrick and that we can provide it. But it is up to you.”
Carl sighed. He knew what Mary’s decision would be. She would rather see him in the padded prisons safe, than living in what she considered a fantasy world out in society. She couldn’t see that this was the real world, and not a fantasy created out of his mind. How could he make her see it?
The door opened cautiously and Mary peeked in.
“Carl, honey? We need to talk.”
“Mary, please believe me!”
“Carl, you have never done those things. It is a delusion, a lie that your brain has concocted.”
“You don’t understand. I have done all of these things. I am sure of it. It’s like I’ve lived different lives but I’m still me. My dreams are the memories of those lives.”
“No, you’re sick. You can’t help it. That’s why you must get help. Just go in, please. They can help you, honey. Help you get back to normal, back to the way you were.”
Carl wanted Mary to believe him, not go back to “normal.” Normal was done and over with and Carl planned on never going back down that road.
“Mary, normal isn’t what I need. I need to live and not within padded walls. Out there,” he pointed out the window, “and I want you to come with me. All I want from my old life is you.” He held out his hand.
Mary looked at him, desperation and confusion swirling in her eyes.
“I can’t,” she whispered, “Carl, I…I can’t. You’re delusional. You live in your head and not in reality. Not in reality, here with me.”
Turning she walked out of the room, tears spilling.

“He seems so happy, Erica. I’ve never seen him this happy,” Mary sobbed into the phone. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“You take him to the hospital, see what they can do. Mary, he needs help, you know that. He’ll thank you when he’s back to his right mind.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, that this is his right mind.”
“How can that be, Mary? People don’t fly or talk to fairies, not in the real world.
“I know, I know. But Erica he’s convinced that they are real, so convinced.”
“Just take him, and it’ll be over in a few months time”


Carl stood on the edge, toes gripping the cold concrete. He couldn’t go into that hospital. They would do everything they could to break him, take away his memories. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as the thought of Mary, the one person who he had put his faith in that she would believe him. But she hadn’t. she wanted him to go into those tiny white rooms, where dreams shriveled and died and the spirit hid in fear in the corners. He would never go there and it was killing him to leave Mary behind. But he must, Carl knew that. Leaving Mary behind, meant that he could live.
“I’m sorry Mary, sorry you didn’t believe me.”
He concentrated on the feeling of weightlessness. He had flown once he could do it again. Carl stepped off and let the wind blow him away from the doubt.


Mary picked up the phone, “Yes?”
“Is this Mrs. Patrick? It’s Lt. Joey Dunham, from the police department.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“Mrs. Patrick, we found your husband dead about an hour ago.”
“What?”
“It appears that he fell off a roof, ma’am. We would like you to come down to the station and answer some questions.”
“Of course.”
“I am sorry for your loss”
The rest of what the lieutenant said never reached Mary. She broke down into sobs. Carl was dead, the real world had killed him.